I Thought I'd Lost You
by Dana Keylits
Summary: What we might have seen at the end of After Hours if the episode had lasted just a bit longer (and if it had been aired on Showtime and not network television) One-shot. Disclaimer: The characters and settings belong to Andrew W. Marlowe and company, with whom I am, regrettably, unaffiliated.


**I thought I'd Lost You**

**By Dana Keylits**

******A/N: This was a challenge, if Kristy could stay SP free this week, I'd give her a fic. This is what she asked for. I hope she, and you, enjoy it. Thank you for reading! **

* * *

_She runs to him, the danger having passed, and flies into his arms, lifting her duct taped bound hands over his head as he grips her tightly, lifting her off the ground._

_"I thought I'd lost you," she whispers against his ear, terrified, shell-shocked, unable to fathom her world now without him._

_"No, no," he replies, holding her tightly, "Never, never." He'd been worried he could lose her, too, a fear that lives in the dark corners of his mind most of the time, now, something familiar, a feeling he's grown accustomed to, but makes him no less terrified every time she walks out the door. This is all part of loving her, and he knows this, has accepted it, is willing to take that risk just to be with her. _

_They part and he frantically frees her wrists from their confinement, then reaches into his pocket for her badge and gun, placing them in her outstretched hands. "These are for you." He smiles, adoring her chameleon eyes, the bow of her lips. "Now, let's get the hell out of here."_

_She just looks at him, still can't believe he is standing there, in front of her, breathing, alive. She crinkles her eyes, smiling."Sounds good to me." And they link arms, running to the nearest uniform. She holds up her badge. "Excuse me, can you help us get a ride?"_

_The officer shakes his head, "We're gonna be tied up here for a bit. Why don't you guys just take a cab?" He whistles and a yellow taxi appears, the same yellow taxi that had refused them a ride earlier._

_Castle looks annoyed, "Really?" They glance knowingly at each other, then shrug and head to the cab._

_He opens the door and she scrambles in. He turns back to the officer and asks, "Can you spot me twenty bucks?"_

She tugs at his hand, "Don't you have your wallet back?"

"Oh, heh heh, right. Never mind," he nods at the uniform before climbing into the cab beside Kate, who practically crawls onto his lap as soon as he's seated. She barks the address of the twelfth precinct at the driver, then swings one leg over Castle, so she's straddling him, not at all concerned with the surprised gasps coming from the drivers seat.

"I thought you were dead, Castle. I thought he'd killed you." Her eyes glisten with frightened tears and she's sure her heart is about to burst through her chest. His hands are around her waist now, supporting her, and she dips her head to kiss him, his lips are warm and reassuring and she presses longingly against them, a grateful moan passes from her mouth to his, and he tugs her closer.

"I'm okay, Kate," he whispers, "I'm okay."

And, like an open dam, she lets go, the tears that have been threatening all night fall freely down her cheeks, tracing a haphazard path, and she wraps her arms ever tighter around his neck. She peppers him with small kisses, her lips seeking purchase on his forehead, cheeks, eyes, throat, lips, all while sob after sob wracks her slender frame and he silently holds her, absorbing her need, her relief, fear, her regret over their ridiculous argument, her love, _especially_ her love. His own troubled emotions rise up within him like a volcano, his eyes grow misty and unfocused and he blinks away the quiet tears that are in complete empathetic response to _her_.

She does that to him, summons unbidden, sometimes unwanted, feelings that nearly always take him by surprise and leave him in a swirling, raw, embarrassed, puddle of emotion.

The air between them changes, becoming thick with anticipation, desire, need, _hunger_. And, her kiss grows deeper, her tongue searches for his, swirling, dipping, curving in an unrestrained but well-coordinated exploration. She slowly reaches between his legs with her hand, a moan unexpectedly tumbles into her mouth and his body responds almost immediately to her sneaky touch.

He breaks away from her kiss, moving his lips to her ear, shifting in his seat, and whispers, "No fair, Kate. What are you doing to me? We can't _finish_ this here." He glances towards the front of the cab to see if the driver is watching them through the rear view mirror, thankfully his bespectacled eyes are looking straight out the front window.

She slows, not removing her hand, but pauses, and sighs resignedly against his cheek. "Ugh. You're right, sorry. " She slides her mischievous hand up his abdomen, his ribcage, his chest and then curls her fingers around his lapel before resting them gently against his lips. She smiles, her tears having stopped their wayward journey down her face, and stares intently into his baby blues. "I thought I'd lost you."

His breathing thready, his voice low and husky, he whispers, "Like I said, Kate. Never."

She reluctantly climbs off of him, tumbling onto the seat beside him, and lays her head on his shoulder. He immediately wraps his arm around her, nudging her closer.

She is suddenly exhausted, the tension, anger, despair, _relief_ of the past six hours washes over her, and all she wants is to go home, curl up in bed, preferably next to _him_, and go to sleep.

But there is paperwork to do, and she has to check in at the precinct, so she closes her eyes, relishing the few more minutes she has with him, and they ride the rest of the way in forgiving silence.

* * *

She stands, barefoot, on the tiled floor and watches the running bathwater, mesmerized by the stream of steamy hot water as it cascades out of the faucet and gathers in a bubbly rush into the cavernous claw-foot tub. She is wearing a silky peach floor-length robe that hugs the curves of her body like it was painted on, her clothes lay on the floor in a haphazard path from the front door to the bathroom. Gates had sent them home, told them to sleep, not to come back until tomorrow. Kate wasn't going to argue, and after she'd gotten her father into a cab, and Castle had sent Martha home, they'd come directly to her apartment.

A bath, and sleep, a drink, him, especially _him_, was all she wanted, all she needed, although maybe not in that order. She leans down, tests the temperature of the bathwater with her fingers, and when she straightens back up is keenly aware of him standing behind her. Close, so close.

He gently presses his front to her back, snaking his arms around her waist, his lips caress her neck. A complacent sigh tumbles freely from her throat and she sinks against him, closing her eyes, visions of the day projected against the darkness of her eyelids.

He's removed his clothing too, everything but his boxers, and she feels the naked warmth radiating from his body. It soothes her, caresses her, envelopes her like a tepid familiar blanket and the tension of the day melts away with his soft medicinal touch.

She tilts her head and he sweeps her hair to the side, giving his lips free access to roam, to kiss, and nip, sliding up and down her neck. He slides one finger beneath her robe, exposing her shoulder and his teeth bite gently into her flesh. She falls further into him, unsteady, unsure, the emotion of the day swells again and she feels the unwanted tears well up beneath her closed eyelids. She chokes back a sob then reaches up and behind her, playing her fingers in his hair before grabbing a fistful and guiding his head so their mouths can meet in a furious, untamed kiss.

As they kiss, he pulls her closer, one hand low across her abdomen, the other on the back of her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair. Their mouths hot and humming, the desperation of the day evident in the tangled way their tongues dip and meet, how they nip and bite, taking turns, her bottom lip between his teeth, his top lip between hers.

He moans, his need for her growing, and she feels his erection against her. She responds by tugging at the sash that binds the robe to her shapely body, the silken fabric falls open, and his hand immediately seeks her sun-kissed flesh. His touch is both electric and calming, terrifying and reassuring. They continue to kiss, not wanting to part, not wanting to break the healing spell that has been cast upon them in the swirling, steaming cocoon that is her bathroom.

When they do finally part, gasping for air, her robe flutters to the floor between them and Castle pulls her deliciously bare back to rest against his chest. His hands glide over the curves of her body, around the gentle slope of her hip, her belly, strumming her ribcage before cupping her perfectly tear-drop shaped breasts, his fingers teasing the gumdrop nipples until they respond, hardening beneath his fingertips.

She gasps, placing her hands over his, rolling her head against his shoulder, his breath hot on her ear. She whimpers, then whispers the words that have been on a continuous loop in her overtaxed mind ever since she ran to him on that deserted road, her hands bound, their lives in danger.

"I thought I'd lost you."

He turns her so she faces him, frames her face tenderly with both hands, their eyes lock, both misty and blazing, "Never," he whispers, his voice low and husky. It is a wish, a promise, a prayer. She slips her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down until they fall around his ankles, he steps out of them, kicking them to the corner.

They face each other, both completely naked, their bodies vibrating, radiating heat as they barely touch, only their hands entwined, their lips gently pressed together in a sweet, ebullient kiss.

Suddenly, they become aware of the splashing at their feet and realize the tub is overflowing. Kate shuts off the water, pauses, and then turns to him, rushing into his arms, wrapping _her_ arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, he stumbles against the bathroom door, his shoulders pressed hard against the wood, the molding digging painfully into his back, but he barely notices, so entranced is he by _her_.

She is strong, flexible, easily holding onto him, her ankles crossed behind him. She reaches between them and takes his penis into her hand, easing him into her gently, until he fills her completely and a satisfied sigh tumbles past her lips.

He moans, then whispers her name in a litany or a prayer, over and over. Her eyes flutter open, pupils constricting, salty tears map a path down her cheeks. She wiggles her hips, rocking slowly back and forth, guiding him languidly in and out of her.

His breath hitches and he stares down at her, his eyes change from shiny to dark to smoldering, taking her with him. He struggles to stay upright, not because she is heavy, she is light, light as a feather, but because he is overcome with his need for her, his desire, the indelible influence she has over him and the way she makes him melt, his heart swell, his mind swim with thoughts of her, only her. Like witchcraft.

Their bodies find a familiar rhythm, they know each other now, every move, every counter move, every pleasure spot, how to make her breathless, him satiated. They know this now, they know _each_ _other_ now.

And she doesn't want to lose it. Doesn't want to lose him, this is her greatest fear, has been for a long time, long before they admitted their love for each other. It's why she had the wall, why she'd held back, why she'd lied to him for a year about knowing how he'd felt.

She becomes furious with the protective emotion churning inside of her and cannot get close enough to him, get him _deep_ enough inside of her.

Her body hums, vibrates, increases its cadence against him. Her pleasure builds, a familiar tickle low in her belly, radiating, climbing, flying, flying high.

He senses she is close and changes the angle of his hips, setting a punishing rhythm, with one arm he holds her to him, the other he uses to massage and tease her breast. Their mouths meet in another frenzied kiss, their tongues dancing from his mouth to hers, then back again. She bites his bottom lip before dipping her tongue back into his mouth, hungry, crazy, needing him, _all_ of him.

Her heart hammers against her chest and she slows, then stops, crushing her body to him, clenching her muscles around him. She takes a deep steadying breath, then another, then another until she feels in control of her senses and she resumes her measured gyrations.

Suddenly, he turns them 180 degrees, and now it is _her_ back against the door, her surprised cries echo from the walls around them. He places both of his hands on her ass, and thrusts himself into her, hard, quick, over and over, taking control of their rhythm, she cries out, again and again, and it's enough to launch her over the edge. She throws her head back, her lips part, his name spills from them like a mantra propelled out into the ether. She grips him, arching her back, holding on for dear life as she spirals down through her orgasm, everything spinning, weaving, rippling through her. She grips him tighter, her muscles clench around him, and he soon follows, gasping for breath, an "I love you" escapes his lips, tumbling into her ear.

She shudders, then sobs.

"I love you, too," she purrs.

With one final, grateful thrust into her, he is sweetly released and their arms wrap tightly around each other, their mouths meet in a languid, tempered kiss.

They wait for their spent bodies to come down, their breathing heavy, smashed together, their hearts calming, steadying. Then she lowers her legs until her feet hit the cold tile and she can support herself, he slips slowly out of her and she presses against him, her cheek resting against his chest, her hands wrapped tightly around his middle.

And, they stay that way.

They stay that way for a very long time.

* * *

She pulls the plug, releasing some of the scalding water to whirlpool down the drain, then replaces it and steps gingerly into the porcelain tub, a satisfied moan rising from her chest as the medicinal properties of the water glide over her feet. She eases her tired, but satisfied, body into the soothing water and it acts like a balm, healing her, restoring her serenity. She leans back, closing her eyes.

A few minutes later, they flutter open when he returns with the single glass of red wine. They'll share, they don't need much, just enough to warm their throats. He glides into the tub behind her, and she reclines against his broad, masculine chest as his left arm encircles her just below her breasts, his fingers splayed along her ribcage. He holds the glass in his right hand and brings it gently to her lips, she sips, the crimson liquid blissfully warming her tongue and throat.

They lean back, close their eyes, revel in the afterglow of their lovemaking, of their unfeigned professions to one another, of their almost having lost, then finding, each other. Kate flips over so she can rest her head against him, snaking her arms around his middle and scratching his back lightly with her fingernails. She sighs, then whispers again, "I thought I'd lost you." She can't help it, it's in her brain, how close they came, how close _she_ came to losing him.

He holds her tighter, his lips press against the top of her head in soft quick little kisses, "Shhhhh, Kate. You didn't lose me, you won't lose me." He guides her face towards his, a gentle, healing kiss, "I'm here, Kate. I'm here. Always."

**The End**


End file.
